


The Dove and the Raven

by Janara



Series: BT Tower Telephone Group F [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Angel Wings, Crowley's Name is Crawly | Crawley (Good Omens), Gen, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Noah's Ark, Pre-Relationship, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:15:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26651266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janara/pseuds/Janara
Summary: 'After forty days Noah opened the window he had made in the ark and sent out a raven, and it kept flying back and forth until the water had dried up from the earth.Then he sent out a dove to see if the water had receded from the surface of the ground.[…]He waited seven more days and sent the dove out again, but this time it did not return to him.'- Genesis 8
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: BT Tower Telephone Group F [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937884
Comments: 12
Kudos: 75
Collections: Hurt Aziraphale





	The Dove and the Raven

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the BT Tower Telephone Event, which was so much fun to participate in!  
> Based on the starter prompt: "Ruffled feathers"
> 
> Thanks so much to [Madame Flutterby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Flutterby) for looking through the spelling.  
> Other than that, this is not beta-ed. Like Crowley we very much fall.

Angel wings were not built for flight on Earth.  
They were made for soaring through the heavens, gliding on gusts of ethereal wind, carrying more by thought than effort.  
They were not meant to ache from exertion.

His face pressed into the burning sand and he closed his eyes. He wasn't sure how long he had been flying, travelling over nothing but deep water.  
He had gone into the wrong direction, hadn't he? Somewhere along the way he always went wrong…

They knew that there was land out there, had known already after his last flight. A small island, an olive tree just starting to grow. He had brought them a leaf, thought his task completed, but he had been sent out again.  
Maybe he should have taken on another form.  
But it had been fitting, that it would be him to search for new land. To bring the tidings of hope.  
Just as it had been fitting that the raven had not returned.

He grimaced, sharp fragments of quartz scratching against his cheek.  
He had found land at last, another island, but he didn't know where he was. He had been flying for so long, hadn't been sure by the end how he had kept himself airborne. His wings had strained and screamed at every movement and when he had finally spotted the glistening speck of sand and foliage, it had been through misty eyes and he had let himself fall.  
He was not even sure if he had changed form mid-air or after the impact.

Now he could rest at least. Just for a bit, just a little while… before he must take to the air again.

Angel wings were not built for mortal bodies.  
They were meant for celestial beings that were not affected by physicality, that did not need to defy gravity.  
His wings were draped limply by his side and _throbbed_. Deep and pounding and terrifying, like they would never have the strength to lift again. He dug his trembling fingers into the stinging sand.  
The heat was strangely grounding. A paradox - earthbound was the last thing he wanted to feel right now. 

Something was here.

He might blame his tightly shut eyes or the haze in his mind for not noticing earlier.  
Something was approaching one of his wings, he sensed it just before it made contact. He flinched. Skirted away. Groaned. Wrenched his eyes open and blinked away the sand. Tried to focus on the shade cowering beside him.  
A breath escaped him. How had he not recognized the presence…

"Thought you left."

A low hum. It washed over him like a wave. 

"You alright?" The shade settled into the sand.

"Of course." His voice was raspy, he swallowed against his burning throat.

There was no answer, just black robes in the outskirts of his vision. He thought about turning to his side but did not dare to move his wings, tried pushing himself up onto his elbows instead.  
A light brush of fingers against his shoulder stopped him.

"May I?"

He tried to resist for a moment, felt a frantic urge to hoist himself up, to look at Crawly-  
His arms shook and gave way underneath him. 

"May I?" The demon repeated and the fingertips were back on his scapula.

And, oh, he should not allow it. He should not allow his adversary to touch him. He should not accept what was offered here… But anything, _anything_ , was better than the relentless, draining pulse hammering through his wings and echoing in his mind.  
He ground sand between his teeth and nodded.

The first brush was like a ghost. He clenched his hands into fists, expecting an onset of pain.  
It never came.  
The demon's fingertips were cool and soft, leaving a soothing chill in their wake.

A demon's touch should not feel like this.  
A demon's touch should scorch and harm and injure.  
It should not be gentle. 

He sighed and relaxed into the glimmering crystals underneath him, drinking in their warmth while smooth fingers were easing the tension out of his muscles.  
Then, the hands became firmer, fingers digging in with just the right amount of force. He closed his eyes, allowing the tension to drain out, felt a different sort of pain. Little flares of punctuated pressure that eased the hardened muscles.

"Thank you," he huffed.

Crawly didn't answer, just went back to running his fingers over ruffled feathers, coaxing them into their proper position. With a last stroke along a primary, the demon drew away from him.

Aziraphale pushed himself up onto his elbows once more, relishing the sensation of his spine realigning itself. He rolled his shoulders then sat up, looking at the demon at last.

"I mean it. Thank you."

Crawly grimaced and shrugged. "Don't mentioned it. Know a thing or two about injured wings."

He opened his mouth but couldn't think of anything to say. Nothing that would not sound condescending. Or meaningless. He tried for a smile instead, maybe Crawly would understand this way.

"I thought you left." He said at last.

The demon shrugged again, his gaze wandering out into the ocean.  
"I left _them_. Didn't fancy being a carrier pigeon."

He huffed a slight laugh. "No, that was me in the end. Anyway, I don't think it would have been proper demonic work, would it?"

Crawly glanced at him before looking back at the ocean. "No, probably not." He stood up, shaking sand from his robes.  
"Anyway, since you don't seem to discorporate just now, I'll be off. See if there are more islands out there."

"Oh. Yes. Right." Aziraphale frowned as he watched Crawly stepping towards the shoreline. "Uhm. Take care?"

The demon glanced over his shoulder, something odd and almost warm in his eyes. "Later, angel. See that we meet under better circumstances next time." Then he took to the air.

Angel wings were not made for flight on Earth, Aziraphale knew. And demons were of the same original stock.  
Still, watching the dark figure soar above the azure sea, he thought it strangely beautiful.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Of Air and Arrows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26690236) by [FacetiousKitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FacetiousKitten/pseuds/FacetiousKitten)




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